There's a new bitch in town (I only bring her out to play on special occasions) and she's telling it like it is; apparently, some are not quite ready to hear it.
This may come as a shock to most of you, but -- guess what -- I'm not actually a bitch, or a vapid, superficial narcissist dolling out judgments on my unsuspecting colleagues. I'm a passionate, compassionate instructor of the most demanding yoga around and, because I expect so much of my students and fellow instructors, I expect a lot from myself. I subscribe to Bikram's prescription, "99 percent right = 100 percent wrong" and make a concerted effort to practice what I preach; tonight in Lisa's class, she expressed these sentiments of mine so concisely in her closing remarks, "Namaste -- the highest in me honours the highest in you."
My critical eye can, at times, come across as harsh, but it is merely my opinion that to adequately represent a faction of health and wellness, it is imperative one appear both healthy and well -- not perfect -- not once have I ever mentioned perfection; I'm not even sure what that is; it's certainly not an astute description of me.
Self-deprecating when the occasion calls (too often and it's either really depressing or just fishing for compliments), I fell into a fit of giggles on my way to the bus stop tonight when a passerby asked me if I knew where "Double D's" was. I looked down at my excuse for breasts (thanks Mom), smiled and responded, "Do I really look like I would know?" From what I gather, Double D's is a bar in the eclectic neighbourhood our studio calls home; it's existence and the inquiry made to me of its whereabouts was the light in my darkness tonight for which I am deeply appreciative.
I needed some light to reignite my happiness, suspended since I seem to have unintentionally offended a couple of my colleagues -- I know if you misconstrue my intonation and lightness you probably don't really like me much anyway, but nonetheless -- sorry.
For anyone interested, my point of view comes from a very different place than most instructors in Edmonton. Hailing from Vancouver, when I graduated from Teacher Training, I auditioned for a teaching position. In Edmonton, a keen student can attend Training, come home and waltz directly into a job in any of the studios; this is simply because there are so few studios and teachers here. In Van, if you are fortunate enough to win a placement somewhere, you had better be on top of your game -- all the time. Studio owners take the classes of every one of their instructors on a regular basis and give them constructive criticism; the number of times per week each instructor practices is monitored; dialogue is strictly adhered to and studied consistently; at some studios, an instructor must know a certain number of new names in the room every class -- if you're not meeting and exceeding these expectations, no worries, there's about 50 other jobless, trained instructors waiting to replace you -- and all of them look pretty damn cute in a pair of spanky pants.
So there it is -- a healthy dose of perspective; I got an even better one tonight when I came home after class to see my daughter walk across the room to me -- for the first time! Elated, I cried (she's been wobbling unsteadily, surfing furniture for months) and thought, does all the other shit that kept me up last night wracked with upset and stayed with me while I whimpered on the inside during the spine strengthening series today really matter? My time and attention is decidedly better devoted elsewhere.
